Panic Attack
by garnet thrill
Summary: Thirteen/Cameron. Thirteen has a panic attack. Hmm, like the title didn't give that away. Warning—femslash. Like the pairing didn't give that away.
1. Panic

**Disclaimer: I don't own House, M.D. or anything associated with it. Life sucks.  
Warning: If you don't know what happens at the end of Wilson's Heart: a) WATCH IT, LOSER...and b) Don't read this fic unless you want to be spoiler'd.**

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**She's just found out she's going to die. She always knew she might, but it's just been confirmed. She's going to die, so why shouldn't she freak out? Why the fuck shouldn't she do what she wants to do: run out of the hospital, tearing the paper into little shreds and scattering them on the street, regardless of littering policies? Oh, she already is. She's also ignoring the tears flying off her face and into her now screwed-up hair. That's how fast she's running. What else is screwed up, other than her hair? Her entire life. No, that's not true. She's not being rational. She knew there was a 50% chance she was going to die. She'd always known that, and that's why she'd climbed Kilimanjaro and gone into anything that caught her fancy headfirst. "Oh my God, I'm going to die," she whimpers to the night. She's going crazy now, talking to herself as she strides on.  
"This is a revelation?" she mutters angrily.  
"You're going to die. It's a shock. You're allowed to freak out like this."  
"This is a freak-out of the first degree. You're overreacting."  
"No."  
"Yes."  
"Shut up!"

This last phrase she yells as loud as she can into the night, begging and pleading everyone to do the same. House and his tasteless jokes, Cameron and her caring, Cuddy and her need to meddle; why can't they all just shut up and go away? Thirteen's heart is beating overtime now, even though she stopped running a while ago. Her throat seizes and she starts feeling dizzy. Through her suddenly narrowed line of sight, she can see her hands shaking, more than they should be at this stage. She realizes suddenly that it's not the Huntington's, but her throat is still tight and she can barely breathe. She has no idea where she is, and couldn't look even if she wanted to. She's getting dizzier and dizzier and fading into…


	2. Awakening

**Disclaimer and warning in chap. 1.**

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"Her heart rate just went up. I think she might be coming to." Anxious, hopeful.  
"Or maybe it's just the millionth false alarm in two days. She'll wake up when she wakes up." Stifled impatience.  
Two days? She's been lying wherever she is right now for forty-eight entire hours? She backtracks through the conversation and recognizes the voices and mannerisms as Cameron's and Wilson's. Although the temptation to just sleep is almost overwhelming, she opens her eyes with some struggle and tries to croak out a few words. As she becomes more alert, she finds a tube down her throat. Her eyes widen.  
"I told you so, Wilson." A slightly cocky smile before she turns around hurriedly and leans close. "Remy? Remy, it's okay. You're at the hospital." She smells nice.  
Thirteen rolls her eyes, both at Cameron's insistence at using her name and her assumption that she doesn't know where she is.  
"Okay, sorry." Cameron takes out a small whiteboard and a thin dry-erase marker, hands them to Remy, whose hands have finally stopped shaking, and asks, "Do you remember the last thing that happened to you? Why were you out at the other end of the parking lot?"_  
Didn't know where I was going. Found out…_she paused before she continued…_something I didn't want to know. Just blacked out, why the tube?_  
Taking the board, Cameron replied, "You didn't just black out. After you did, a car was driving into the parking lot and didn't see you on the ground. You're lucky it was going so slowly. A few of your ribs got crushed and your lung looked like it was going to collapse for a while, so we're keeping you ventilated to be safe."  
Thirteen motioned for the board, then wrote, _Who was the driver?_ She had her suspicions as to why Wilson was in the room. She looked at him. He glanced away, then down, then back at her. "Yeah, it was me," he said, closing his eyes momentarily.

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_Yeah, these chapters are all kinda short. I'll keep 'em coming, though!_


	3. Naked

**Warning: This chapter contains two hot girls having sex. If you can't stand the heat, get out of the kitchen.

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Thirteen's grateful to have the tube out of her throat and to be able to walk around. Wilson's always hovering, even though he's just lost Amber and should be lying at home with his curtains shut. But no, the day he'd come back to get something from his office was the last day he'd spent at home. Thirteen's told him to go, but he just shakes his head and gets her another pink plastic cup of water. She knows how awful it feels to lose someone, but then to run someone over soon afterward? No, she'll let him do whatever he wants to make himself feel better.

Cameron always seems to make an appearance too. Even though she's the head of the ER, Thirteen hasn't been under her care since her surgeries. Every time she tells Cameron to get back to the ER, coughing slightly as she gets used to speech again, Cameron smiles that beautiful smile of hers and lingers for another ten minutes before she finally heeds what Thirteen says. Of course, Thirteen's always Remy to her now, because of that strange intimacy they seem to have. When Thirteen's lying in her bed, pretending to sleep, Cameron stops by sometimes, falteringly smoothing back a lock of hair from Thirteen's face and then quickly stepping out of the room, like she's afraid someone will see her. She just did the same thing five minutes ago, her nighttime ritual before she either leaves the hospital with Chase or begins a late shift. Only this time, she added a soft, "Sleep well, Remy," her floral scent lingering even as she skittered away from the room. Thirteen drifts to sleep with these thoughts.

Several mornings later, she's restless. Cameron told her the night before that she could leave the next morning, and now she's taking a shower with the satisfaction of knowing it'll be her last in this bathroom. As she steps out, she hears a faint, "Remy?" from outside. It can only be Cameron. Wrapping her towel around herself, she sticks her head out. "Yeah?"

"Oh, sorry. I thought you'd checked yourself out early or something." Cameron's blushing too much, ten times the normal pink tinge in her skin, even though she's speaking normally. Thirteen finds herself feeling odd too. She knows what it is, but she tries to deny it. "Nope, just a quick shower before I go home," she says, smiling. Oh no, her cheeks are going red too, the tips of her glowing ears hidden by her wet hair.  
"Well…I'll come back in a little while then…" Cameron bites her lip, starting to do that skitter again. Before she knows what she's doing, Thirteen says, "Wait."

Cameron turns towards her slowly, the color in her face contrasting with her blonde hair as she skitters in Thirteen's direction instead. "Remy…" she whispers. Thirteen glances outside, then drags Cameron into the bathroom, slamming the door shut with both their bodies. Before they realize, they're in each others' mouths. "Allison," Remy finally manages to reply. She flings the towel off Remy, gazing appreciatively at what's revealed. Taking advantage of her moment of stunned staring, Remy begins unbuttoning Allison's shirt and pants and unclasping her bra, all with the skill and speed of a professional. She slides off Allison's black panties and grins. "You know what they say about women—" but doesn't get to finish her sentence as three fingers plunge inside her. Her formerly coherent voice turns to begging moans as Allison works her way in and out, thumb on Remy's clit, tongue working its way down her neck but encountering the plastic wrapping Remy uses to protect her bandages. Slightly disappointed, she focuses solely on making Remy come. Her disappointment lifts when she feels Remy tightening around her, groaning some garbled form of 'Cam' as she exits her.

"And now's your turn," Remy gasps, beautiful as ever.

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_Jesus. This chapter's about as long as the first two put together. As soon as I start writing about sex, I write a hell of a lot more. Oh well. The next chapter's a sort of continuation, so expect the same length (or more), content and detail. =]_


	4. Inside

**Disclaimer, warning, etc. at Chapter 1.

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Remy kisses down from Allison's mouth down to her neck, stopping for few seconds to bite lightly at her pulse point before moving down via Allison's clavicle to her breasts. Just as Remy's about to begin doing God-knows-what to Allison's left nipple, the loud beeping of a pager interrupts. "Shit," Allison mutters, pulling her clothes back on with one hand while checking her pager with the other. "Do you know where I live?" she asks hurriedly, turning to a fidgeting Remy. "I was thinking you could come by after you're discharged and I get off work, see," she adds with a roguish grin.

"Umm…no, I don't. Why don't you come over to my place instead? I'll be home all day, but there's no telling when you might get off work. Just find my file when you have a second—my address is right there."

Allison nods, then rushes out of Remy's hospital room while tying up her hair. Remy closes the bathroom door, resigned to taking another shower.

Remy enters her apartment, dropping her bag on the floor and making her way to her bedroom. She flops down on the bed. "What the hell am I doing?" she sighs, raking her hands through her hair. The pain she'd experienced after blacking out and being run over, plus the sex with Allison had almost driven away the deeper pain—the knowledge that she's going to die. She lies there thinking for a little while, finally drifting into that uneasy place between sleep and awareness. Visions that aren't quite dreams, but not mere memories either, cross her mind vaguely: images of her mother, the funeral, the crying; the pain she had finally managed to get over; the first time her hands had started twitching, more crying; the test and the results… And now here she is, crying again. She sits up, sniffing slightly as she reaches over to her nightstand for a tissue. There's a knock at the door, and she remembers Allison. "Fine state to be in right now," she whispers under her breath. Throwing away the tissue, she walks over to the door and opens it.

"Hey," she says with a slight smile.  
"Hey, yourself," Allison replies.

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_So I'm back. Sorry, it's a short chapter again, and I just had to cliffhanger it. Don't worry, there'll be more soon!_


	5. Curiosity

**Disclaimer: I don't own them. D8  
Warning: Femslash (OBVIOUSLY). Non-canon for after Season 4.**

**Sorry for taking so long, guys. This is a sort-of-long chapter filled with SECKS to make up for it =)**

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"You've been crying," Allison says, concern radiating from her as she observes Remy's red, puffy eyes.

"I haven't," Remy protests weakly, trying to move in and kiss Allison. She's stopped by two delicate fingers that push her lips away gently.

"Right now you need to talk, not fuck," Allison says quietly, looking Remy right in the eyes.

"Maybe that's for me to decide," Remy replies, raising her voice slightly and beginning to trail her hands down Allison's back and up under her shirt. "You wanted to come here. The host decides." She smiles, or at least twists her mouth into a semblance of a smile, as Allison begins breathing a little faster.

A blush makes its way into Allison's cheeks, tingeing them pinker and pinker as one of Remy's hands undoes Allison's bra and the other slides into her pants. Allison's arms, by contrast, lie limp at her sides. It feels too good now: she's not going to ask Remy to stop even though she knows she should.

Remy's touch gradually draws away.

Allison shakes herself from her sex-induced haze and looks up. She registers that all her clothes are off and she's now lying on Remy's bed. She watches Remy take her clothes off slowly, sensually—sort of like a stripper. Allison gives a small choke of laughter at that thought.

"What?" Remy whispers, climbing up the bed to be next to Allison again.

"I was just thinking…never mind," Allison replies, grinning widely now.

"Tell me." It's in every way a demand, growled quietly into Allison's ear, sending a sudden shock of goosebumps down her left side, making her feel like she's somehow lost control.

"I was just thinking…" she breathes as Remy's nails close around a nipple, "…just thinking that…aah. How do you…God."

Remy's tongue has now replaced the sharp nails, eliciting groans, but not an answer from Allison.

"How do I what?" Remy asks, doing the same growly thing again. This time the goosebumps go all the way down, electrifying Allison and making her ache.

"How do you expect…expect me to answer you…when you're doing…that?" Allison finally gets out, interjected by raking fingers and lips trailing down her body but never getting quite where she really wants them.

"Fine, I'll stop then," Remy replies roguishly, doing so abruptly. Allison's aches increase, beyond what she thought was possible.

"Fucking tease," she mutters, trying not to smile.

"You asked for it," Remy replies.

"Ugh. I was just thinking that you look like a stripper when you're taking your clothes off. Curiosity killed the cat, and whatever it was going after didn't even count for that much. Jeez."

Remy looks dissatisfied. "That's all?" she asks suspiciously.

"Yes. Really," Allison replies.

Without warning, she jumps up and flips Remy around, locking her into a ferocious kiss.

"I've had enough of this," she pants. "We've been going at this for ages and we haven't even gotten to _fucking_." Without saying another word, she shuffles herself down to the level of Remy's hips, and places one hand on each one. She sees the glistening wetness, just inviting her to enter, and accepts its beguiling temptation.

Remy groans as Allison's tongue enters her, desperate and vicious. The best kind. Allison swiftly changes tack, launching surprise after surprise, doing as much as Remy did in minutes of teasing in several seconds. Before Remy knows it, long, long fingers are inside her, while Allison's tongue enters her mouth, then moves down her neck and to her breasts. She feels something warm, but still wet on her thigh, and realizes Allison's need is too great to be satiated later. Remy enters sensory overload: her lips, her breasts, her legs…but wait. All of a sudden, nothing matters but the fingers and the _fireworks_ they're making and the sounds that go with it as she and Allison come together, creating a sound that could only be described as…choral.

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_Remember when I moved in you, and the Holy Ghost was moving too, and every breath we drew was hallelujah?_


	6. Assignments

Disclaimer and warning in previous chapters.

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It's been a week and they still haven't really spoken more than a few sentences to each other. Remy seems intent on doing nothing but having sex, and even when Allison stays over one night and is offered a ride to work, they don't talk in the car. Remy seems comfortable with the silence, or maybe she's just concentrating on driving because they're really late, but Allison keeps fidgeting, wanting to bring up the subject of _what's wrong_…yet she's too kind to bring up something that so obviously hurts the girl who has now become her lover.

They arrive at the hospital and immediately realize what a horrible mistake it was to come to work together. Arriving at exactly the same time as them is a familiar revving motorcycle, complete with cane and irritable, nosy (ex-)boss.

"Hello, Lesbian!" House yells across the parking lot from his handicapped spot. "Or should I say…lesbian_s_?"

Remy and Allison are a little dumbstruck, not having thought about what to do if they were found out. Remy clears her throat and makes for the hospital entrance, almost jogging as she tries to out-walk house. Allison knows, however, that there's no stopping him, and hangs back to take on the barrage of questions herself. _Remy's going to have enough trouble later anyway_, she thinks.

"So, when did you trade in the Aussie for Thirteen? Guess she's better than him, since she's dying and all."

Cameron looks up, shocked. "Dying?" she says, not quite understanding.

"Yeah. She has Huntington's. Have fun. At least you'll have longer than six months." With that, House limps off to the elevator as Allison makes her way to the locker room, deep in thought and hurt at the jibe about her husband.

As House reaches the fourth floor and enters the diagnostics office, he's already prepared a mental list of twenty questions for Thirteen, though he's pretty sure he knows that her relationship with Cameron isn't an animal, vegetable or mineral. He knocks open the door with his new cane, flameless since he lost his old one. "Taub, Kutner, Foreman, go troll for cases in the ER. Make sure to distract Cameron as much as you possibly can. Thirteen, my office," he rattles off with an evil grin.

"Uh, Thirteen's not here," Kutner says, glancing up at House. He's evidently worried that House's brain isn't fully healed.

"Yeah, I realize that _now_," House replies, having finally bothered to look at the table. "Okay, change of plans. Foreman, go find Thirteen. Taub, Kutner, go bother Cameron anyway." He goes into his office to write down his list of questions.

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_Lame ending, sorry. It's just so that I can fit in moar smut next chapter =)_


	7. Testing

**Disclaimer and warning in previous chapters.

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Taub and Kutner mill around the emergency room half-heartedly, wanting to find a case so they at least have something to _do_, but also trying not to get in Cameron's way. For once, she looks like she's in a foul mood—fouler than the one House would be in if he found out his lackeys weren't doing their job properly ('their job' obviously being the way House, and not Cuddy, defines it). She's actually telling an intern off, berating him for not closing the curtain around a patient's bed _all the way_ or something. Taub flicks through patient files while Kutner keeps an eye on Cameron, having nothing better to do but watch her demonstrate how to close a curtain properly. Suddenly, he nudges Taub and whispers, "She's coming! Run!"

Too late.

"What does House want now?" Cameron snaps from across the ER. She perfunctorily signs a chart held out to her by a nurse and stalks over to them. "Patient? Here, third chart from the bottom. Christine Hallowell, 23, went blind this morning, seemingly for no reason at all. No, don't ask," she says, raising the file menacingly. She continues to rattle on very quickly, "We ran all the necessary tests. Results and scans are in the file. I'll send the patient up to room 406. Now go away, and tell House that if this patient isn't interesting enough, he can go through the pile of letters pleading him for a consult and actually call one of the patients. The letters are in his second drawer, under the porn." With that, she all but shoves Taub and Kutner bodily out of the ER, then turns away, tucking a few stray hairs behind her ear as she does so.

"What's eating her?" Kutner mutters sullenly, straightening out the corner of the patient file where it was crumpled when Cameron flung it at him. "I feel like we're a rogue Imperial faction."

"What?" Taub asks before he can stop himself.

"You know. House is the Emperor, or Darth Vader; it doesn't really matter for this analogy, but we're the rogue—"

"Shut up, Kutner," Taub says succinctly, snatching the file and walking quickly to the elevator.

Meanwhile, Remy has spent the past half hour sitting on a bench in the locker room. It's a stupid place to be, because House is going to either come find her himself or send someone to do the same, but she thought she'd have the best chance of running into Allison without actually going into the ER here. She hopes Allison isn't too pissed at her for running off like that, but she finds it difficult to deal with House, let alone first thing in the morning. She lets out an audible grunt as she bangs her head against the wall behind her a little too hard.

"Are you okay?"

She opens her eyes quickly, not having realized that there was someone else in the room with her. It's Wilson. Trust him to be hovering around even though she's all better now. Well, from what _he_ did, anyway.

She takes a breath and says, "Yeah, I'm fine, Dr. Wilson. Thanks, though." She smiles politely, expecting him to leave. Instead, he plunks himself on the bench beside her.

"You sure? I'm pretty sure hanging out here alone isn't helping your patient."  
"As far as I know, we don't have a patient. But then again, I haven't actually gone anywhere near the office yet this morning."

"Oh." Wilson pauses, then decides to take the safe route. He clears his throat a little. "This woman was rushed to the ER by her fiancé. She woke up this morning and couldn't see at all, and there doesn't seem to be any neurological reason. No recent trauma, nothing. She gets migraines pretty often, but that doesn't seem to have anything to do with it either."

"ER?" Remy asks suspiciously, realizing that House had probably sent people down there to either find her or harass Cameron. Wait—find her? She turns to Wilson suddenly. He seems a little taken aback by the sudden interruption to their conversation.

"House sent you here," she states, raising her eyebrows at Wilson. She thought he was just there coincidentally, but why would he be? Under the nice-guy façade, he was still loyal to House above all else.

"Sorry," he says, shrugging. "He's going to buy and pay for his own lunch all week. You must have something he really wants."

Remy groans. "Fine," she says. "Let's go and get this over with."

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_A/N: Bleh. I don't like this chapter very much. It's just a filler for what has to happen next. And it's longer than any of the other chapters, but it's BORING. (Meaning no femslashy goodness. Sigh.) Anyway...chapter 8 is coming very, very soon because I need the story to move along too!_

_Review, plz? __ n_n_


	8. Tell Me

**Extra warning (others in previous chapters): There is actual medicine being practiced in this chapter, which is probably all wrong.

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Instead of doing something to help the patient (apparently, Foreman, Taub and Kutner have it all under control), she's standing in front of House's desk, watching as he snickers slightly and scribbles something out, replacing it with another word. She peers surreptitiously at the piece of paper. At the top, in huge letters, it reads, 'TWENTY QUESTIONS FOR THIRTY-ONE'. She sighs.

"So, you don't tell your pseudo-hooker about the fact that you're dying, and she's into you anyway. Impressive," he says with a quirk of the mouth as he finally looks up. Clearing his throat (in lieu of a drum roll, probably), he booms out in an announcer-style voice, making sure the entire hallway can hear, "So, Thirteen! How long have you been fucking Cameron?" He puts a special emphasis on the word 'fucking', as if it's supposed to shock her or something. Whatever.

"A little more than a week," she says clearly. Obviously, the best way to throw him off is to try not to run away, completely red-faced, even though that's what she wants to do. Her strategy seems to work as he stops for a second, then peers back down at his list. As he's deciding which question to ask next, a still-livid Allison appears at the door. Remy's back is to her, but upon smelling the delicate scent she's come to know so well, _Fuck_ is Remy's only thought. Suddenly she can't stand being near House anymore. Her resolve has completely dissolved in the past second, and she turns around and dashes out the door. She surmises that Allison's following her from House's yell.

"Not exam room three, ladies! There was a projectile-vomiter in there last time I checked!"

Remy stops speed-walking at the far end of the parking lot and wearily leans against a lamppost. Allison stops too. They just stand in silence for a little while, each gauging the other's mood. Remy realizes that she can't put it off any longer. She has to talk.

"This blows," she says, kicking at the ground, then lifting her eyes slightly.

"What, having to talk to me?" Allison asks bitterly, not meeting Remy's eyes. She knows she's being unfair, but she feels a sense of betrayal. Sighing, she clarifies, "House told me already. About the Huntington's. I know you find it hard to talk, but I feel like you're just using me for sex. Like you never would have told me if House hadn't found out."

Remy stays silent.

"Would you have?" Allison presses. She reaches out gingerly, as if she's making a huge effort; touches Remy's chin and forces eye contact. "Would you have told me you were dying? Or would you just have come have sex with me every night so I could do the same to you?"

Remy averts her gaze as best as she can, gathering her thoughts. After a minute or two, she finally says, "Ally, what the hell are you talking about? You never would have stood for me not telling you. I know that, and I would have eventually. Really."

Allison seems to be somewhat comforted by Remy's pronouncement. "Remy," she says softly, taking her hands. "I want you to be my _girlfriend_. I don't want a nightly fuck, I don't want a mouth and some fingers and a _squish mitten_. I want all of you. I want you to know that you can trust me, that whatever you tell me…"

Remy silences her with a kiss. That, beyond anything, conveys Remy's message: she wants all the same things, but it's going to be hard for her. Just to make sure Allison gets it, she leans in and whispers, "We're on the same page."

Allison kisses her again, deeper this time. Remy's tongue has just passed over her bottom lip when a throat clearing behind them sends them flying apart and standing ramrod-straight.

"House can see you," Foreman says, grimacing.

This time, though, it doesn't affect the two women as much. They're still a little dazed from being shocked out of their encounter.

"Whatever he wants to see, he's seen in pornos. Whatever he wants to know, he knows already, or can figure out easily enough. I don't really care," Remy says, glancing up at the hospital building. She turns to Allison, who looks a little less certain, and sighs. "I guess we should go back anyway."

By the time Remy gets back up to House's office, he's scrapped his list of questions. "You annoy me," he says shortly, before pointing his cane in the direction of the adjoining room. "Go forth and diagnose!"

"What's the latest?" Remy asks Kutner, who appears to be doodling a stylized X-wing Rebel fighter on a copy of the patient's chart.

"Patient's becoming delirious," he says, adding a mini-Luke Skywalker inside the cockpit.

"Are you guys serious?" she exclaims, glancing at the board. "Hello? Are you even using your brains?" She jumps up and points at each of the symptoms, almost toppling the board over as she stabs at it.

"Shut up, you sound and like House minus the cane," Taub quips. "What is it?"

"Methanol poisoning," she says, frowning at them. "Duh."

"We tested her for it ages ago. Gave her a couple shots of tequila, which should counter-act the methanol; slight improvement. Then she started thinking she was at a carnival and tried to straddle the nurses' station," Kutner said, finally finishing his doodle.

"Well, maybe she's _still being poisoned_, then," she says, extremely annoyed with the rest of the team. "And if House wasn't so obsessed with my personal life, he would have realized that." She raises her voice slightly so it carries over to the office next door.

"Fine," House yells from his office, a little louder than necessary. "Go call the cops on the fiancé, give her an ethanol drip and go home and have sex with your girlfriend. That last one only applies to Thirteen, because she's the only one here with a girlfriend."

Remy feels like smashing her head against the table.


	9. Allison

**Disclaimer and warning in previous chapters.  
Author's note: This is a PWP chapter. You don't really need to read the others for context if you don't want to.**

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As it happens, Remy _does_ go home and have sex with her girlfriend. House seems to always be right, even when it comes to other people's personal lives.

"That's probably because he doesn't have one of his own," Allison says when Remy brings up the subject. They're both already spent, though it's only 10:30 on a Friday night. Remy laughs and rolls over to kiss Allison.

"Again?" she whispers.

Without waiting for an answer, Remy continues to kiss her, moving further and further down her body. They already teased each other mercilessly the last time around, and Remy decides to go the fast route this time. She shoves her tongue into Allison, drawing a soft moan from her. Remy licks and nips expertly, then switches tactics. Three fingers, all at once, eliciting an even louder groan. With her mouth, she sucks on one of Allison's nipples, stimulating the other with her free hand. Given this excess of sensory input, Allison's breathing starts to become irregular. Gasping, she manages to whisper, "Faster."

Remy's fingers move in and out, her thumb pulsating on Allison's clit at regular intervals. She speeds up her rhythm: in-push-out, in-push-out… Then, as Allison's entire body tightens, clenches and shudders, Remy slows. She leans her ear close to Allison's mouth and receives her reward: a breathy, juddering moan. "Oh, Remy…"

She can't stand it anymore. She doesn't care how tired Allison is, because that one moan turned her on more than anything her girlfriend could ever do. She takes Allison's hand and places it where she needs it most. She's wet beyond belief, filled to the brim with desire. As if on autopilot, Allison climbs on top of her and curves her fingers _just_ right. Every thrust, every light scratch, every kiss wrests another groan from Remy.

The sparks of light dance before Remy's eyes. _So pretty_, she thinks, incapable of all other thought. She opens her eyes slowly, sees Allison's face. She closes her eyes again as Allison's fingers curve inside her.

She's brought over the edge, the sparks of light blossoming into full-blown conflagrations of color. She's vaguely aware of someone, somewhere murmuring, "_Fuck_, Ally," but it can't be her, because she's away with the flourishing colors.

A gentle kiss on her mouth brings her back. She opens her eyes and sees something—no, some_one—_equally beautiful.


End file.
